


Tacenda

by breaumonts (AnonymousCatastrophe405)



Series: I'll Fall With You [4]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possessive Behavior, Slow Build, Slow Burn, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 00:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousCatastrophe405/pseuds/breaumonts
Summary: “Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Lisette replies.  “He’s pretty great.”She and Maxwell share a smile.  No thanks to the duchess standing before them, who fed the gossip mill a week ago in Fydelia by calling them a couple, Lisette and the Beaumont brothers have come to the mutual agreement it’s in their collective best interest to neither deny the new rumor nor encourage it.  It’s an excuse for Lisette and Maxwell to stay close together while they try to investigate whoever set her up, one even with the added benefit of providing them with cover if they slip away from events to chase down any leads.  It’s working out nicely so far, but this state dinner is the first real test of the arrangement, but Lisette and Maxwell are both on edge as they try to find the balance between making the act convincing and not letting it get away from them, since they’ve always tread a thin, blurry line to begin with.Maxwell grins, and she doesn’t think Adelaide notices him blush.  “On that we can all agree.”





	Tacenda

**Author's Note:**

> Jumping ahead to early Book 2, implied to be the Italian state dinner.
> 
>  **Tacenda** \- _(n.) Things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence_

He doesn’t even realize it, Lisette thinks.   From her vantage point across the room, she’s content to be out of the spotlight for a while and observe, which she’s never had many opportunities to do since coming to court, and it’s nice to be on the periphery of the intrigue for once.  It frees her up to enjoy her French 75 in peace and enjoy the view.  

Maxwell’s chatting animatedly, as he always does, with a nobleman whose name she doesn’t know and Adelaide, regaling them with some story or anecdote that requires some wild gesturing and a lot of emoting.  He has such an expressive face, she thinks, possibly for the millionth time as she runs her finger over the rim of her champagne flute.  That mobile mouth of his is so pretty.  The nobleman laughs politely at whatever Maxwell is saying, and Adelaide tips her head back to laugh and puts her hand on Maxwell’s forearm, less than polite and more than a little too friendly, and his smile teeters on the edge of polite tolerance and genuine discomfort.

 _Oh no_ , Lisette thinks,  _that won’t do._

Lisette straightens her shoulders and strides across the ballroom to his side like she’s on a rescue mission.  The relief on his face is so apparent she has to smile as he pulls himself out of Adelaide’s reach to put his arm around her.  She rests her hand on the small of his back and leans into him.

Adelaide lifts her martini, undoubtedly one of several she’s had tonight, in greeting.  “Lady Lisette.  I was wondering where you’d gone off to.  You’re almost as good company as our dear Lord Beaumont here is.”    
  
“Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Lisette replies.  “He’s pretty great.”    
  
She and Maxwell share a smile.  No thanks to the duchess standing before them, who fed the gossip mill a week ago in Fydelia by calling them a couple, Lisette and the Beaumont brothers have come to the mutual agreement it’s in their collective best interest to neither deny the new rumor nor encourage it.  It’s an excuse for Lisette and Maxwell to stay close together while they try to investigate whoever set her up, one even with the added benefit of providing them with cover if they slip away from events to chase down any leads.  It’s working out nicely so far, but this state dinner is the first real test of the arrangement, but Lisette and Maxwell are both on edge as they try to find the balance between making the act convincing and not letting it get away from them, since they’ve always tread a thin, blurry line to begin with.  
  
Maxwell grins, and she doesn’t think Adelaide notices him blush.  “On that we can all agree.”  
  
“You two are so sweet,” Adelaide says.  Her cheeks are slightly, slightly rosy, but her eyes are bright and clear, and she presses her fingertips to her heavy looking Cartier necklace.  Her smile is soft and fond, a little far away.  “I remember being young and in love, when you can’t keep your hands off each other…”

Maxwell tenses under Lisette’s palm, but he tries to laugh the comment off and does an almost passable job of it, but Lisette knows him too well to fall for it the way Adelaide does.     
  
“It’s a wonder how we get anything done.” It falls a little flat, but Adelaide titters with delight at being humored.  Lisette carefully glances around to make sure they aren’t being watched, then slips her fingertips into the vent of his suit jacket.  Maxwell’s hand on her waist tenses, a silent question, and she replies by rubbing her thumb against his shirt.  
  
“And yet we manage to be very productive.”  She passes her empty flute to a server.  “Sweetie, would you get me another drink?”

She  _may_ have used her bossy voice, turning it from a polite question into a subtle, gentle command.  She hopes he understands that she’s giving him an out, a good reason to excuse himself from a conversation he wanted to be rescued from.

“Uh, sure,” he says.  She can’t tell if he’s picked up on her tone, but he seems glad for the excuse to walk away anyway.  “A French 75, right?”

“You know me so well.  Yes, please.”  
  
He ducks his head close to hers, looking like he’s kissing her cheek, and a tingle runs from the base of Lisette’s skull all the way down her back as he whispers into her ear, “ _I owe you one_.”  
  
Adelaide certainly noticed something pass between them, and her eyes are calculating over the top of her martini as Maxwell leaves them alone.

“What I wouldn’t give for a fit young man like him in my bed,” she says, a little wistfully.  “I’m positively envious, Lady Lisette.“  
  
That much is clear.  Adelaide has a way of looking at him like he’s a course in a meal she can’t wait to sink her teeth into.  Lisette doesn’t want to ruin the tenuous illusion she and Maxwell are pulling over the entire court, but an unexpected, ugly sort of possessiveness simmers in her belly at the very thought of Maxwell and Adelaide even being in the same room alone together, knowing how fond the older woman is of him.    
  
“I’m very fortunate,” Lisette says, a little stiffly.  “Maxwell is everything I could hope to ask for.”

The duchess hums agreeably.  “I’ve always been partial to him, myself.  He has those pretty Beaumont blue eyes and he’s such a sweet boy.”   
  
His eyes are indeed pretty, bit it is quietly infuriating that Adelaide is pointing out Maxwell’s charms as if Lisette hasn’t already noticed them herself.  As if it’s at all appropriate for her, a married woman old enough to be his mother, to be appraising him so, as though he’s a bauble or an ornament and not a person.  She has no right to talk about Maxwell,  _Lisette’s_ Maxwell, like that.  
  
Wait, no.  Not her Maxwell.  He’s not hers.  They aren’t actually together.  She has no right to think anything of that sort about him.    
  
She’s incredibly grateful when he reappears through the crowd with two drinks in hand, a champagne flute for her and a highball glass for himself with something red and orange in it.  Seeing him approach, Adelaide politely excuses herself, thinking she’s leaving a young couple in the throes of new love to a moment alone, but Lisette doesn’t miss the way the older woman’s eyes rake over him before she departs into the crowd around them.  
  
“Oh no,” he says flatly, not sounding very disappointed at all, “She’s gone.  What a shame.”  
  
“Isn’t it, though?”   
  
He shrugs to minimize his smile.  “Yeah, well.”  With a flourish he presents her with a champagne flute.  “Your drink, my lady.”  
  
Lisette dips into a small curtsy as she takes the glass from him.  “Why thank you, my lord.”  
  
Maxwell laughs.  She loves his laugh.  It’s just a little too loud and a little too honest and entirely something she’ll never tire of hearing.  She likes that her using his title amuses him so much, because she doesn’t think of herself as a funny person, except that Maxwell always seems to think she is.    
  
Before she can stop herself, Lisette has her hand on his tie, fiddling with it as though she’s adjusting it, but really she just needed to touch him.  To claim him in the most subtle way she can think of.   
  
“What’re you doing?” he asks.    
  
She shrugs.  “It felt right.  Since, you know, we’re supposed to be a couple.”  
  
“Ah, I see.”  His eyes narrow, considering her.  She’s almost his height with these heels on, so the impact of his look is a little more disconcerting than usual.  “Staking a claim, are we?”  
  
“Maybe,” she admits.  He knows her so well.  She moves her hand from his tie to his lapel, stroking the soft Italian wool as if she’s not appreciating the firmness of his body beneath it.  “ **I** ’m not jealous, but it’s just… you’re mine.”

A little laugh escapes him as he looks away from her, his cheeks darkening.  “Am I, now?”  
  
She shrugs.  “If that’s okay.  I don’t want to share you with anyone just yet, you know?  I need you all to myself while we figure out who set me up.”  
  
“I think I can manage that.”  He clears his throat.  “Am I to be at your beck and call, too?”  
  
Lisette smiles.  “Aren’t you already?”  
  
Maxwell drags his teeth over his lip before he looks back at her.  “It’s different if you ask me to be.”

Something that feels a lot like desire flutters in her stomach.  “I’m asking.”  
  
“I can manage that, too.”  He smiles.  “Since I basically already am.”

There’s a moment, a beat, that feels electric as it passes between them.  A frisson of possibility, of almost, of what if, and Lisette knows Maxwell is feeling it, too.  


End file.
